


Lightening The Load

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-10-07 11:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10359621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: Daniel receives an unexpected gift





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

Lightening The Load

##  Lightening The Load 

##### Written by Lin   
Comments? Write to us at jmtm1@eastky.net

The knock on my door startled me. I put my book down and went to answer it. To my surprise a burly man in denim overalls was standing in the hallway outside my apartment.

"You Daniel Jackson?"

I nodded.

"I was told to deliver this," he waved a hand at a piano loaded onto a trolley beside him. 

"I'm afraid there has been some mistake. I didn't buy a piano . . "

"No mistake. Now if you'd move aside, I'll roll it in."

"Wait. What store are you from?"

"No store, buddy. This piano is from the woman next door. Our company has been hired to move her things and she asked me to bring this over here. So if you'll get out of the way, I can get to work."

"Mrs. Cranshaw? Move her things? What's going on?"

"Look, I ain't here to play Twenty Questions. Do you want this piano or not?"

"Um, just wait right here for a minute."

"Whatever. I get paid by the hour." He leaned against the object in dispute, apparently settling in to wait. I maneuvered around him. Mrs. Cranshaw's door was standing open. Several other men were carrying a variety of furniture and boxes out. I had to duck and dodge my way in.

I found my neighbor sitting in her favorite chintz chair by the window. Her gnarled hands lay curled in her lap. The ever present tank stood beside her, carrying life-sustaining oxygen to her through thin tubing. The morning light glinted golden off her half-moon spectacles. Her smile on seeing me was brighter than the sunlight streaming in past ruffled curtains. 

"Daniel," she wheezed, "I trust the piano arrived?"

"Yes, that's what I came over to talk about." I looked around as another man hoisted an Ottoman over his shoulder and carried it from the room. "Where are you going?"

"Shady Oaks Nursing Home in Tampa. It's near my niece."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you . . . " I trailed off helplessly. 

"It's okay. This has been coming for a while. I can't get around like I used to."

"I'm sure you'll be comfortable there."

"I suspect. At least it'll be warm all winter. And it'll be nice to be closer to family."

I nodded, at a loss for something to say. I crouched down at her feet since there was no where else to sit. The steady parade of moving men continued to strip the cozy apartment of the personal possession that made up reality for this sweet elderly woman.

"Um, about the piano. Why are you giving it to me?"

"Think of it as a 'thank you' gift."

"Thank you?"

"You've never let me do anything to thank you for what you've done for me. This is my little way of repaying all of your kindnesses."

"I haven't done anything."

"So modest. Just like my Earl." Her expression softened as it always did whenever her thoughts turned to her late husband. "Always willing to lend a hand to whoever needed it and always surprised at their gratitude. He would say, 'you shouldn't expect thanks for doing what is right'. You remind me of him in so many ways."

"Um, thank you. But about the piano . . ."

"It's a beauty, isn't it? Earl bought that for me ... let me see. It was in '48, after the war. I played for the church every Sunday. Earl bought it as a surprise, so I could practice at home, you see. He loved to listen to me play. I don't know how many evenings we sat together on the bench. I'd play and he'd smoke his pipe. We'd stay that way for hours, shoulder to shoulder." She sighed, her smile turning wistful. "So many good years."

"Don't you want to keep it with you?"

"Oh no, my dear. There won't be room for it."

"What about your niece? Surely she would like to have it?"

"She already has a piano of her own. Daniel, is there some reason you don't want the piano?"

"Well, it's just that . . . um, I don't play."

"You could take lessons."

"I really don't have the time."

"You know my dear, one day you may meet that special someone and wouldn't it be sweet if she played? Then you would already have a fine instrument for her."

"Oh, well, I don't know . . ." I felt the betraying blush creeping up my neck. 

"And it'll be handy for when the children take lessons. They'll need something to practice on," she teased with a merry twinkle in her eye. 

"Ah, yes . . .mmm . . ."

"You're not going to turn down a gift from a old woman are you? Not only would it be disrespectful, but it wouldn't be very polite, now would it?"

"No . . . I mean yes. I think." She chuckled at my fumbled attempt to answer.

"And what do we say when someone gives us a gift?"

"Thank you, ma'am." I managed to say around the barely suppressed laughter. We grinned at each other for a minute, before I was forced to shift position. My feet were beginning to go numb.

"It'll put my mind at ease, knowing it's safe with you. So many good memories are stored up in that piano. I could sell it, but I hate the thought of it being in the hands of strangers. I could put it in storage, but what would be the point in that?"

"Mrs. Cranshaw . . ." I reached out to lay my hand over her worn and knotted one.

"Now now, dear boy. Don't fret. I'm not worried about it, so you don't be. This old woman has led a long and satisfying life. Not everything worked out like I would have liked, but all in all it wasn't bad." She patted my hand, smiling down at me like a wrinkled cherub.

"If there's anything I can do, just ask."

"Such a sweet boy. If Earl and I could have had children, I would have wanted a son just like you." Her smile faltered for a moment, then returned a little less brightly. "No sense in spending time in regret. Earl always said what-could've-been is a game no one can win, right?"

I gave her hand a squeeze then sat back against the window. The moving men were carrying her bed out in pieces. We watched in silence as mattress, frame, and headboard made their way past us. A life time's worth of memories were being packed up and toted out before our eyes.

"I could give the moving men a hand."

"No, dear, I think these fellows have it covered. I haven't heard the tinkling of glass or anything go smash in quite a while now. They'll be done soon."

"Can I get you anything while you wait? I could bring you some tea."

"I think my tea pot is already on the truck."

"I can run to my apartment and make us a cup."

"That would be nice, dear. If it isn't too much trouble."

"No trouble at all. I'll be back in a few minutes." I hurried out past the men with boxes in their hands. In the hallway, the burly man in denim was still leaning on the piano.

"You can go ahead and put that inside."

"Sure, buddy, whatever you say." I opened the door for him.

"Where do you want it?"

"Um, how about down there?" I moved some smaller pieces of furniture out of the way before going to the kitchen to put on the kettle. The mover wrangled the trolley into the living room. His grunts and swearing could be heard as he unloaded the piano. Eventually, I heard the door slam as he left.

Setting aside the tea to seep, I wandered out to look at my newest antique. I ran my hand along the lid of the instrument. I pushed back the cover to reveal the worn keys. I imagined Mr. and Mrs. Cranshaw spending evenings together in front of the piano. Sometimes they'd sit and talk, sharing dreams, sometimes sharing silence, sometimes simply enjoying each other's company as they listened to the music swirl around them. I admired the dark gleam of the old wood, evidence of the loving care lavished on it over many years. It was a beautiful gift, fitting too. What better place for this cherished artifact from the life journey of a warm hearted and spirited soul than the home of an archeologist? 

Back in Mrs. Cranshaw's apartment, I handed her a cup of herbal tea. I settled down on the carpet with my own cup. For a while we were content to sit in silence, enjoying the fragrant tea, the warmth of the sunshine and the pleasure of each other's company as we watched the moving men continue their task.

"When are you leaving?" I asked.

"In about an hour, the airport is sending someone to collect me. My niece will be waiting for me at the airport in Tampa." 

"Before you go, I wanted to give you something." Setting my cup on the floor, I dug into my pocket. I withdrew the object I had hastily snatched from my bookshelf before carrying the tea over. I took the cup from her, and gave her the gift.

"What is it?" She asked as she turned it over, the faded ribbon trailing from her arthritic fingers.

"It's a medallion from ancient Egypt, kind of a good luck charm. It was given to someone, usually a loved one, who was going on a long journey. See here, this symbol represents life, and, " turning the dull brown disk over, "this represents family. I just thought ... well, it's small and won't take up much room."

"Thank you, Daniel. I will treasure it. If you'll help me . . ." She held out the medallion. I took it from her trembling fingers and slipped the long ribbon over her head. She admired the piece as it hung against her plain dress.

"Thank you," she said again as she looked up with a brilliant smile, her eyes suspiciously bright.

"You're welcome. I hope all goes well for you in Tampa."

"Life is what we make of it, as my Earl used to say. I'll be fine. Don't worry. You take care of yourself. Promise me?"

"I promise."

"You've been so helpful in the past, Daniel. Always carrying things for me, bringing up my mail, and running errands when I needed things. A piano is hardly thank you enough. But there is one more thing you can do for me, my dear."

"What is that?"

"Could you hand me the cup, please? I wasn't quite finished with my tea."

finis

  


* * *

>   
> © February 11, 2001  
> The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp.  
> The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters  
> who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names,   
> titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television,   
> Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd.   
> Partnership.  
> This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and   
> solely meant for entertainment.   
> All other characters, the story idea and the story itself   
> are the sole property of the author.   
> 

  


* * *

##### In the episode "The Light" a piano is seen in Daniel's apartment. This is a story about how it might have gotten there. 

* * *

  



End file.
